


Backwards and Forwards

by moonygirl76



Series: The Head and the Heart Series [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Stiles Stilinski, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Healing Stiles Stilinski, Injured Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mates, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Amnesia, Werewolf Mates, everyone lives and is okay, its tough but we in it together, or brief better off gone thoughts, or just sad sad thoughts, possible trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonygirl76/pseuds/moonygirl76
Summary: Stiles has experienced a repeat brain injury resulting in near complete amnesia this time. He has no memories of his own. No memories of anyone around him. No memories of himself.  He only remembers Derek. Derek's name, his face, and the surety that Stiles loves and trusts him. But none of the memories of their relationship to explain the feelings. One week out of the hospital, Derek is caring for Stiles and his poor brain. Stiles is struggling with the healing process and questions his future place within the pack and with Derek. Uncle Peter isn't helping. What even is a Stiles?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: The Head and the Heart Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601416
Comments: 14
Kudos: 257





	Backwards and Forwards

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about a week after Fine China. Can be read separately from the other stories but, to be honest, it will all make more sense if read in order. 
> 
> Derek and Stiles have been together for a long time. But Stiles has no memories of being with Derek prior to the hospital. He feels the depth of their bond, but has no basis for the foundation of these feelings, if that makes sense. I hope it makes sense. 
> 
> Please leave a comment. Thank you so much for reading.

Backwards and Forwards

The lights are low in the pack house, as they have been for the week following Stiles’s discharge from the hospital. There’s a “no electronics” rule, well, it’s an exaggeration of the doctor’s rule of “limited electronics” that Derek has enforced for Stiles to help heal his brain from the trauma which is causing the amnesia. Which is fine because Stiles doesn’t have anyone to text, no one that he can remember, and he knows abstaining and keeping stimuli to a minimum will help his brain heal or re-heal. And he’s anxious for it to heal. To regain all the function, but also the memories of his life, his friends, and himself.

When not napping, which takes up a surprising number of hours of Stiles’s day, he lies on the couch making notes in his notebook. His “research” on his old life. It’s frustrating and slow. Other times, Derek will read to him softly out of old books from his shelf, or play records, quietly, on his record player or from Derek’s phone. Nothing loud, nothing bright, nothing overstimulating. 

Derek brings him some hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and marshmallows, with his scheduled medications, while Stiles tries to get comfortable on the lumpy leather couch. 

“This couch is difficult to lie on. Which is the literal primary function of a couch. And it doesn’t go with the room at all,” Stiles tells Derek. 

Derek hums, in acknowledgement, as he sets the drink down on the coffee table. He lifts Stiles’s feet up to make himself space and sits down. Stiles is reaching for his hot drink when he realizes that Derek is pulling socks onto Stiles’s bare feet.

“Oh, man. You read my mind,” Stiles says.

“Not really. Your feet are always cold,” Derek says. 

It’s Stiles’s turn to hum, in acknowledgement, because it’s not something he can confirm or deny. Though, in this case, his feet were definitely getting chilly. 

Stiles pulls out his notebook from where he shoved it behind one of the cushions. “Where were we? Ah. Allison Argent,” he says. 

Derek opens his mouth and then closes it, his hands still where he was rubbing Stiles’s right foot. “I know, I know,” Stiles says. “Nothing narrative. Nothing with a bias. It could disrupt Stiles’s space time continuum.”

Derek huffs. It’s not quite a laugh. “It’s just that whatever I say will be colored by my experiences with her.”

“You don’t like her?” Stiles asks.

“I do like her. She’s pack. But my past with her is very different from yours. I want you to remember and create your own experiences with her, not just feed you mine. And don’t speak of yourself in third person,” Derek says.

“Okay. How about two words that describe her that Stiles--I mean I--would agree with.”

Derek takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Kind and tenacious.”

Stiles processes that. “Those are good words. Interesting combination.” He writes them down in the notebook next to a taped picture Derek provided. The picture is of Stiles and Allison at Stiles’s eighteenth birthday last year. They are both smiling, and Allison has cake frosting on her nose. A picture is worth a thousand words. But this image doesn’t evoke any. Well, now he has two. Kind. And Tenacious.

He closes the notebook and scoots down to rest his head on the pillow. Derek begins massaging up his calves. First one, and then the other. This room, and this house, is unfamiliar. Except for the week they’ve spent here together, he can’t place a single memory here. Well. Anywhere else, either. Even Derek. Though he can’t bring up their past, he recognized Derek’s voice in the hospital, and then his face and his brain instantly produced a name and a feeling of safety, of familiarity, and of home. Certainty. 

He feels at home with Derek, even if this place does not feel like home. But this house felt better than the house with the Sherriff--who Derek says is his father. Even though he could see that the bedroom there had held remnants of his life, and held evidence of a typical teen boy, he railed against being left there. Mostly he railed against being left anywhere that wasn’t with Derek. Derek was the only piece of familiarity, the only person that he could trust. He did not miss the look of abject hurt and betrayal in the eyes of the Sherriff when he agreed to release Stiles to Derek’s care. But that was a thought for another day. 

Stiles doesn’t realize that he’s closed his eyes until he hears Derek texting and cracks one eye open to look at him. “Sorry,” Derek says, when he sees Stiles peering at him. “I wanted to check in with Deaton on your gift.”

“Is it my birthday?” Stiles asks. 

Derek looks at him and frowns. “I was joking,” Stiles says, quickly. “Tell me about the gift again? I know you said it had to do with the item you retrieved the day I was re-injured, but everything was still pretty muzzy the day you were telling me about it. Well, even more muzzy than every other muzzy day.”

“Alpha Norman had a box with my family crest on it. He was vague about how he had obtained it but, said he didn’t want trouble an offered to pay me for it.”

“Where do you think he got it?” Stiles asks. 

“If I had to guess I’d say my uncle. Uncle Peter,” Derek says. “He was in possession of several items, books mostly, that survived the fire.” Derek had told him about the fire. Minimally, at least. “Those items disappeared when he did. And it’s his M.O.”

“It’s his M.O. to sell family keepsakes?”

“Not specifically. It’s his M.O. to be generally shitty without exception,” Derek says.

“Ah.” Stiles makes a mental note to write that down in his notebook. Nope. He’ll forget. He pulls out the notebook. His pen pauses. “That seems somewhat bias, if I’m being fair.”

“It is. But you hate him, too. If anything, you’ll think I was going easy on him when you get your memories back,” Derek says.

“If.”

“When.”

“So. Alpha Norman plays the Price in Right to your. . . who hosts the Price is Right?”

“Drew Carey. But the price was wrong. Anything from my family is invaluable to me. And then once he told me that he had sent his Betas to you as a threat . . . Well . . .” Derek trails off. 

Stiles looks at him over the notebook apprehensively. That sounded ominous. “Well, what? Did you kill him? And the horse he rode in on? Not that I condone killing innocent animals.”

“I could have, as far as werewolf law goes. It was a near thing, if I’m being honest. Does that scare you?” Derek asks. 

“It dismays me. It has me feeling dismayed. And maybe generally it’s a frightening thought. But I’m not scared as in scared of you.”

“It should scare you.” Derek looks away. “You’ve always reminded me to temper my responses. You ground me. You remind me of my humanity. But the thought that he would hurt you made me feel much more animal than I have in a long time.”

“How did you end it?” Stiles asks. 

“Making it clear that any attempt to stop me would be a fatal mistake. I left with the item and gently reminded him that if he so much as looked toward the California border too long that I’d find him and rip his throat out.”

Derek looks up to Stiles, like he’s waiting for something. Stiles isn’t sure what he’s waiting for. He doesn’t miss the look of sad disappointment that lingers on Derek’s face in the silence. 

“With my teeth,” Derek finishes.

“Lovely image,” Stiles says, wondering if that was supposed to be his line. Derek is still giving him that look. Stiles allows his eyes to fall closed again. He can’t deal with that look. 

“I’ve yet send apologies for the state of his Betas. They're both lucky they made it out with their lives, and only because I came straight to the hospital instead of hunting them down and finishing the job.”

He feels Derek move himself, and then move Stiles until Derek has him gathered against him and they are both stretched out the length of the couch. “Too much mayhem before sleep. I want to hear about my gift,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s chin. Derek kisses him on his nose. 

“It’s a secret. And you need a break.”

“I don’t like secrets,” Stiles says, but he’s unable to articulate why it bothers him. “You’ll stay with me, though? While I nap?” Stiles asks. 

Stiles feels Derek’s hand move up his spine to the back of his neck. “For as long as you’ll have me,” he hears Derek’s voice rumble in his ear just before he falls asleep. 

When Stiles awakens it’s to a knock at the door and all the warmth leaving him as Derek leaves the couch to answer it. There’s a lot of back and forth, most of which Stiles can’t hear, but it sounds like Derek is trying to get rid of someone. 

“He’s not ready,” Stiles hears Derek say to the person at the door.

Stiles’s curiosity gets the best of him and he ambles over to where he can set his chin on Derek’s shoulder and see who is at the door. 

“Allison Argent, I presume,” Stiles says. She smiles politely and nods. He wants to be warmer, because he can already see the worry in her eyes. But she’s like a character in a book, instead of someone he actually knows. Derek reaches back to clasp Stile’s hand in his, the worry radiating from him, as well. 

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand in reassurance. “Come on in, Allison,” Stiles says. He steps back and for a second or two there’s resistance and then Derek succumbs to the pull of his hand and steps back for Allison to enter the pack house. 

“I had a thought, this morning, about you,” Allison says to Stiles. 

“Was it a dirty thought?” Stiles asks, then hopes that Allison isn’t offended easily. Luckily, she laughs, lovely dimples appearing on both cheeks. “Not this time.”

Derek pulls Stiles close and growls a kiss into his neck before releasing him. “Behave, and I’ll make you both some hot chocolate.”

Stiles watches him walk away toward the kitchen. “No promises!” He calls out. 

Leading Allison over to the couch, he tosses his notebook onto the coffee table and motions for her to sit next to him. 

She clears her throat. “My thought was that I know that some of your memories are intact, and others severed because of the injury and I wondered if you remembered movies that you’ve seen. Do you recognize these?” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a handful of DVD’s and sets them down in front of Stiles. 

Stiles looks them over carefully. Then looks at Allison. She looks cautious, and a bit unsure. She could have come over and asked him a lot of invasive questions. Or, she could have come over to supply him an overabundance of information he wasn’t ready for. Instead she took the side door in. She came with a thoughtful idea to build (or rebuild) a new friendship and not force the old one. 

Kind. And tenacious. 

Also, the thought itself was intriguing. “Super Hero movies. I recognize the characters, of course, but I don’t have a memory of actually watching them. It’s strange.”

“Do you want to?” she asks. “Watch them?”

“Wait. Are you about to see if I can re watch my favorite movies, as if for the first time? That’s everyone’s dream!”

Allison leans forward. “Yes. But also? I was curious if your answer to DC versus Marvel would change.”

Stiles opens his mouth but the answer that he thought would be right there, is just out of reach. He closes his mouth. “Interesting,” he finally says. “I’m in. As long as you’ll stay at least through the first one.”

A smiles blooms on her face again. 

“Stiles is supposed to limit screen time as much as possible,” Derek says, appearing with their drinks. 

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles says, waving him off dismissively. Maybe too dismissively. Derek lingers awkwardly for a moment, and Stiles notices Allison, also, has stilled. “You don’t think it’s fine?” Stiles asks. 

Derek shrugs, in a way that feels very passive-aggressive.

“You could join us, big guy,” Stiles says.

“No. Go ahead. Do what you want. I’m not your keeper,” Derek says. 

Keeper. If Derek was the keeper, did that make Stiles the pet?

After Derek leaves the room Allison leans in. “Perhaps this isn’t such a great idea?”

“No. It is a great idea. Maybe Stiles always used to do what Derek says, but I do what I want.”

Allison looks like she has much to say to that. Maybe about past Stiles, or the fact that Stiles again referred to himself in the third person, or that Derek is just being concerned and otherwise isn’t controlling. But she doesn’t say anything and, instead, starts the first movie. 

They are sprawled in comfort (feet tangled under a blanket in the middle of the couch) and a quarter of the way into the second movie when Derek crouches down next to Stiles. He has his coat on. Allison pauses the movie and excuses herself to the bathroom.

Derek cups Stiles’s cheek gently and rubs his thumb next to his right eye where a group of spidery stitches reach onto his face from his injury. “I’m sorry. About before.”

It was something they would have to talk about, but now wasn’t the time. Even the energy to think about fighting, or disagreeing, was exhausting.

“You look tired,” Derek says.

“I’m alright,” Stiles says, but he pulls Derek closer anyway and tips his face up to accept the kisses pecked on his eyelids, forehead and, finally, lips. 

“I’m going into town to check in with Deaton about your present, then I’ll pick up dinner from the diner,” Derek says. “What are you hungry for?”

Eating has been tricky this week. Nausea is pretty well controlled. But his appetite is difficult to find. “How about like, a sandwich? Do they have chicken salad?”

Derek blinks at him. “Probably.”

Probably, meaning Stiles has never ordered a chicken salad sandwich. “I’m just not super hungry,” Stiles says, like an apology.

Derek squeezes his hand, where their fingers have entangled. “Allison?” he asks as she walks back into the room. “Something from the diner?”

“I’ll take a cheeseburger,” she says. “Extra curly fries please.”

Derek smiles at her, but there seems to be a hint of his wolfy teeth. She smiles back, but there’s a blush to those cheeks. 

After he’s gone, but before Allison has restarted the movie Stiles asks, “What do you know about Derek’s gift for me?” 

“Not much. What do you know?” She asks back. 

“I don’t know? Something belonging to Derek’s mom that he retrieved the day of my injury. He’s having it fixed or tested or gift wrapped and tied up in a bow for all I know. What I don’t understand is why it’s Scott’s boss that he has to go to.” Stiles picks up his notebook and pages back. “Dr. Deaton is a Veterinarian. ‘Knowledgeable, but unfortunately laconic,’” he reads aloud. 

Allison tips her head back and laughs. “What? Hey. Do you think it’s an animal?” Stiles asks. 

Allison stops laughing, but her eyes still sparkle. “No. Not an animal.” She bites her lip.

“What do you know?” he asks again.

“Not much,” she repeats, “Other than, Deaton isn’t just a Veterinarian, he’s a Druid. I think he was the Emissary for Derek’s mom, or at least was someone she would consult with from time to time. I’m not going to say anything else about the gift if Derek hasn’t already.”

Stiles hesitates. He doesn’t have that innate feeling of trust with Allison that he does with Derek. But Derek had said that he and Allison were friends. And he trusts Derek. And she brought superhero movies. “He called it a secret. I don’t know why, but it rubs me the wrong way. There’s already tons I don’t know, that he wants me to remember or decide for myself, but a secret feels like a lie,” Stiles says. 

Allison sits up and leans toward Stiles. “Oh, no, Stiles. It’s not that kind of secret. I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. It’s just precious. Anything from his family is precious. And, you know Derek. Long, lengthy explanations aren’t really his thing.”

Stiles doesn’t say it, but he wonders why Derek would give him something so precious. He knows that Stiles is special to Derek. But he still doesn’t feel like Stiles. He feels like an imposter, borrowing his life. Borrowing this life with Derek. 

Allison seems to sense his change of mood. She tries twice to get him to talk again but he feels pretty done for now. Allison’s phone buzzes before she can try a third time. 

“That’s my dad,” she says after checking it. “He wants me home.”

Stiles gets up from the couch. “I’ll walk you out. We can finish watching the movie another day if you’d like.”

Allison hesitates and then, she too, climbs to her feet. “Oh. Yeah. I’d like that.” She looks toward the door. “Maybe I should wait until Derek comes home.”

“I’m not Derek’s pet. I don’t need a keeper.” It’s terrible to see the way her face falls. “I’m just going to lie down and sleep here until he gets back,” Stiles says. “I’m sorry. It would just be sort of weird and awkward to have you here while I’m sleeping.” This seems to reassure her a bit, though she’s smart enough to be skeptical. 

“Are you sure? You’re not upset about the gift thing? Because he’s going to tell you all about it,” she says.

“Nah. I just get anxious and out of sorts when I don’t rest. And that was more screen time than I’ve had all week. But well worth it!” he adds before she can worry again or feel guilty. Because that was not his intention. 

Once she’s gone, he does lay down. On the couch again, even if it is lumpy, so he can catch Derek when he comes in. He wants to speak to Derek. Clear the air about some of the thoughts and feelings he’s been having. 

Stiles is awoken by the sharp sound of hands clapping. 

There’s a man he doesn’t know, which is to say it’s not Derek, sitting on the coffee table in front of him. It’s not anyone he has a picture of in his notebook. 

When the man speaks, it’s with a drawl of coldness. “I was going to start by asking who you think you are, but I feel like the context makes that unnecessarily and unintentionally satirical and cruel. But I do actually enjoy being cruel on occasion,” he says. 

Stiles slides up and back on the couch until he’s sitting and as far back from this man as he can be. Not that it would help. This man is clearly a werewolf like Derek. All scary teeth and glowing eyes part, not the nuzzling necks and personal space heater part. 

“I’m Stiles,” he says, then feels stupid. This man must know who he is. 

“Are you?” the man asks. He throws his head back and laughs. It is not a nice sound. “Because Stiles is smart and quick and cunning. I’m not sure you could boil your own egg at the moment. So, I repeat. Who do you think you are? You don’t actually think you are worthy of a Hale family heirloom?”

“I-I don’t know?”

The man tilts his head in a way that’s all animal and looks Stiles up and down. 

Stiles gathers his wits and the blanket in front of him.

“You’re quite sweet like this. All defenseless-lamb. Did my dear nephew not explain it to you? The diligent work he’s doing with Dr. Deaton as we speak?” he asks.

Ah. Uncle Peter.

“No. Not exactly,” Stiles says.

“Healing crystals. More powerful than any that you can buy. Blessed and enchanted by the most powerful druids of our time. And he’s having them made into some kind of trinket for his broken shell of a human boyfriend.”

So that’s what it is. Something to heal Stiles.

Uncle Peter sniffs at Stiles’s cold, half-empty cup of cocoa, then continues. “Thoughtful, right? But what if it doesn’t work? Once given, it cannot be returned. The crystals belong to that being. What if your feeble human body doesn’t accept the magic? And, what if your fragile human brain cannot be mended. What then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you can’t stay in the pack like this. As pack Emissary, your whole primary function is your general intelligence. Your research and deduction capabilities.” He raises his eyebrows. “Then you have whatever other functions you provide the Alpha as his mate. Though I imagine with his grandiose sense of morality he isn’t using you for that either.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. Stiles felt the bond he shared with Derek the moment he saw him in the hospital. Felt the trust, and the love and the absolute surety of what they meant to one another. Though he may not have any physical memory of a sexual relationship, he wasn’t afraid of that. In fact, he would have welcomed the physical closeness to go with the feelings. But Derek had been hesitant. He didn’t feel it could be full consent if Stiles couldn’t remember their past. Aside from what he was told, Stiles could only remember being together a handful of days--that was as far back as his memories provided. Since the hospital. Though, Stiles kept insisting, it felt much longer. His feelings aligned with what Derek told him: that in reality their relationship spanned months, or years depending on the definition. That they were mated even. But he wasn’t enough of a dick to push Derek on the matter either. Perhaps it was Derek who felt he was with a stranger sometimes. 

Uncle Peter clicks his tongue. “Don’t look so sad. There is still a chance that you can be useful. And not just as a pack pet.”

The choice of the word is creepy, as is his intonation, but Stiles sets that aside. Creepy Uncle Peter has a point.

“How can I be useful?” Stiles asks. 

“Consider this. Alpha Norman’s wife is ill. That’s why I brought the crystals to the Alpha in the first place. It’s only his own misplaced morality that had him seeking out Derek for permission.”

Stiles folds his legs under him. “You’re crazy if you think that I’ll trust you over Derek.”

“I am crazy, but this has nothing to do with trust. It’s about character. Derek would do anything for you. He’s loyal to a fault. He lost his entire family, except me--not that I think he would count me--and he clings to his chosen family beyond all reason. He would use our most valuable family heirlooms in a misguided attempt to restore you to your former, albeit impressive, functioning. To restore you to resemble the Stiles that he knew. Because you are no good to him like this, in your present state. Worthless to the pack. You must sense that. The humans in a pack must serve a function. That’s not emotional, that’s just science. For instance, Allison Argent has connections and brute force, and is talented and ruthless in the art of physical combat. I’d even respect her, if she wasn’t the daughter of a hunter.”

“The daughter of a hunter?” Stiles asks.

“Oh, didn’t you know? You see? Even though Derek doesn’t fully trust her, she serves a function. You, however, have lost yours. If the crystals don’t work, and they won’t, because you aren’t susceptible to the magic, you will have taken a most precious tool left in our family’s trust and turned it into a garage sale trinket. Derek has already replaced your brains with Lydia Martin’s, and before long he’ll be forced to replace you with her as Emissary. It only makes sense. And, you, as a mate, are not the man he once loved. That man is gone. You have become, as I said, a pet. Perhaps, still loveable. But a pet nonetheless. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

“What do you want from me?” Stiles asks.

“Take the crystals from Derek and bring them to me. I’ll give you a share of the profits from Alpha Norman. You’ll have saved a life, and also have money to start your own life somewhere. A life on your own two feet. Where you are not a burden and a sad reminder, to those around you, of someone they have lost and a time that once was.”

Stiles hates that he’s considering it. But he hates the thought of hurting Derek and being a disservice to Derek’s pack.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Do that.” Uncle Peter hands Stiles a paper with and address written on it, and a time. “Sacramento. Saturday. Find someone with tight lips to drive you, or take mass transport and I’ll pay. Again, this isn’t about trust. It’s business for me. With maybe a touch of old-fashioned doing-what’s-right. I know you wouldn’t want to hurt my nephew but, staying with him only delays his grief process. I know you aren’t that selfish.” He tips his head to the side again. “At least, you never used to be.”

Stiles waits for Derek on the back porch. The expansive yard backs up into the edge of the preserve. The trees are dense and opaque. The sky is open and clear. 

When the stiff wood planks become too hard underneath him, Stiles moves to the grass and lies on his back on the soft ground. He stares up in to the black of the night and watches for falling stars, not even sure what he’d wish for if he saw one.

He’s not stupid, is the thing. Stiles has lost a significant amount of his memories. Both short and long-term. Simple things, like Marvel versus DC and yesterday he forgot the word “pencil” all day. He’s lost entire people and relationships. Even his own father. And he had to be told that his mother had died. Even that hadn’t caused much of an emotional response, since it was so abstract, what with having no memories of her. He’s not quick, and he gets overwhelmed, but he’s not unintelligent suddenly. He understands when he’s being manipulated. Uncle Peter clearly has an agenda, and something to gain. Possibly multiple somethings to gain.

Given this, Stiles still can’t shake the feeling that Peter was telling some truth. That the crystals wouldn’t work on him. That the magic would be wasted. That his future holds more and more of those sad looks he gets from people when he can’t remember something, most likely them. The heart-breaking look Derek gets when he’s reminded that the Stiles he knows is gone. Stiles thinks for the first time that perhaps it would have been easier for everyone . . . 

Derek is suddenly there, arms around him and pulling him close. He’s kissing his face that has, at some point, become wet with tears. Derek holds him without speaking, without demanding, without questioning until the last of the tears dissipate with lingering, shuddering breaths. 

Stiles takes a final deep breath through his nose. “What on earth is that smell? It’s amazing.” Derek releases him slowly. 

“It’s Allison’s dinner. Cheeseburger and curly fries. Sorry I’m so late.”

“You came bearing hugs and kisses and food. How can I be cross?”

Stiles sits up more fully and pops open the to-go box that Derek hands him. He tosses a couple of the curly fries in his mouth and moans pornographically. It dawns on him. “This is what I usually order, isn’t it?”

Derek nods, his face a mixture of pride lined with sadness. 

Derek pulls a box from his pocket and opens it. Stiles can only look at it out of the corner of his eye. If he looks at his gift, he might be tempted to take it. 

“You miss him, don’t you?” Stiles asks. 

“Who?” 

“Stiles.”

“Don’t say that,” Derek says.

“I’m not him. This might feel like love at first sight for me, and maybe it also did back whenever I met you for the first time. But this relationship, whatever you had with him, was built on a shared narrative. A series of shared experiences. Fighting? Planning? Saving each other’s lives? Sleeping in the preserve? Hosting pack dinners?”

Derek doesn’t say anything. 

“Those real-life experiences shaped us as individuals and shaped us as a couple. I cannot be the same person if I don’t have those shared experiences. Not to mention how the injury changed me neurologically. I’m not him.”

Derek gets to his feet suddenly and takes several steps toward the tree line. Even from this distance, with just the light of the moon and the dim porch light Stiles can see the claws as they rake through his hair. He’s fighting his shift.

Derek takes several seconds, and Stiles waits. When he turns back, he’s still just Derek. But there are tears in his eyes. “I thought I lost you! I was getting non-stop frantic calls and texts all the way back from Nevada. I wolfed out somewhere along the highway in the Mojave Desert and Scott had to pull over and push me out of the car. It took me almost a half-hour to change back.”

“I’m not doubting your love for him. I--”

“Stop that!” Derek roars.

Stiles closes his mouth. 

Derek lowers his voice. “You are Stiles. In all the ways that are important. If we have to build a new foundation, and new memories, we will.”

“Look. The purpose I serve in this pack is as the brains,” Stiles says. “The function of the Emissary is to counsel, plan, and research. With my amnesia, I can’t do any of those things right now. Maybe never.”

Derek walks back and kneels down next to Stiles. “Those are the functions of the Emissary on paper. Your purpose, your function, is being the heart of this pack, Stiles. You always have, and always will be the heart of this pack. You bind us. Not just to our human sides, but to each other. You bring out the best in everyone. You bring us all together.”

Stiles is already shaking his head, but Derek isn’t having it. He places his hand on Stiles’s shoulder to still the movement. 

“If Allison is tenacious, you are voracious. In your approach to everything. Including, and most importantly, our pack. Your intelligence and the way you use your brain has always been remarkable, but it’s just one of the tools you use. Your greatest asset has always been here.” He slides his hand so it’s open on Stiles’s chest over his heart. 

Stiles is choking back tears again. “You look so sad, so disappointed when I can’t remember,” he says.

“If I do it’s mostly because I’m frustrated for you. It makes me sad to see you struggle. It makes me most sad when you say you are not you. Everything that is essentially you is still there. Your curiosity, your kindness, your warmth and humor. The rest is just details. I love you, Stiles. Backwards and forwards. Past, present and future. The question is if you still love me.”

Stiles knocks Derek’s hand away and climbs onto Derek’s lap. Derek easily bears the force of his momentum. Stiles takes Derek’s face in both of his hands and kisses him deeply. They kiss and paw at one another until Stiles feels the nip of a sharp tooth and a pinch of claw at the hip of his jeans. Derek pulls back just far enough to breathe hot air onto Stiles’s chest. 

“I love you backwards and forwards as well. And sideways you crazy, sappy wolf,” Stiles says. 

Derek pulls the trinket from his pocket, and shows it to Stiles. It’s a necklace.

“The largest stone in the middle is a moonstone,” Derek explains. “It’s all about new beginnings. Around that are crushed citrine. They are specifically for healing the mind, but also the whiskey color reminds me of your eyes. The final ring is mixed purple amethyst, for protection, and pink rose quartz, for love. It’s magic. For healing.”

Stiles sets his head on Derek’s shoulder. Still not touching or accepting the necklace, he is overwhelmed by the thought and intention that went into the gift. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Derek places a hand under Stiles jaw, raising his face gently. “You have a spark, Stiles, of magic inside you. You haven’t been able to fully explore it or develop it, but it’s there. Deaton says that the spark will serve as a receptor for the magic that is in these crystals.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?”

“I don’t care if it doesn’t work,” Derek says in a fierce whisper. “I’m giving this piece of my born family to you, my chosen family. When we did that quick mating ceremony, I didn’t have anything to offer you, except the symbolic bite to your neck, but now I have this to offer you. This isn’t a win-lose proposition. I already have you. If you can be healthier and happier in any way, I want you to have that. But either way I am telling you that I’m here with you no matter what, and I love you no matter what.”

Stiles takes the necklace from Derek. He examines it closely and all of the beautiful craftmanship down to the long silver braided chain. “You might have to tell me that a lot. Because, you know, I forget things.”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“And the kisses, you might need to remind me with a lot of kisses when I can’t remember.”

Derek chuckles as he helps Stiles turn in his lap so his back is facing Derek. Derek clasps the chain at his nape and then takes his time nuzzling and kissing and nibbling the back of his neck and down his shoulder. 

“This might be a really inopportune moment to tell you? But I made the acquaintance of your Uncle Peter while you were gone,” Stiles says.

Derek groans as his arms around Stiles tighten and then loosen as Stiles wiggles. 

Derek turns back around to face Derek. “He said that Alpha Norman’s wife is ill and that he needs the healing crystals. Do you think that’s true? Either way I’ve figured out that Uncle Peter’s goal isn’t altruistic, that’s it’s monetarily motivated. Does Alpha Norman even have a wife?”

Derek is quiet for awhile. “I’m not sure. Maybe . . . maybe we could research that together. There are still gems left over. I can’t say I don’t know how desperate we can become when trying to protect the ones we love.”

“I’d like that. To do some research to you. With breaks.”

“Yes.”

“Kissing breaks.”

Derek huffs. “Yes.”

“And cuddle breaks that end in nap breaks. What about Uncle Peter? Oh!” Stiles digs the piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and hands it to Derek. “He wanted me to meet him in San Diego with the necklace. Wait. San Bernadino. Salida? Is that a town?”

“This says Sacramento,” Derek says. 

Stiles nods and waves his hand, dismissively. 

“I know a few people from Seattle who might want to meet with him instead. And have a little chat.”

“He needs a good chatting. Derek?” Stiles asks. 

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Will you carry me upstairs? I’ve had a big day,” Stiles says.

“Yes.”

“And can you put my cheeseburger in the fridge for later?” Stiles asks.

“Yes, Stiles.”

“And Derek?”

Derek raises his eyebrows, feigning annoyance.

“When we wake up? In the morning? Can we bring over more of the pack? Memories or not, I want to know them. Know my pack,” Stiles says.

Derek nods.

“And will you remind me, if I need it? About how you love me?” Stiles asks. 

Derek takes Stiles’s face in both his hands. “As many times as you need.”


End file.
